


a plaque on the wall in singapore

by apeirophobia



Series: takotsubo cardiomyopathy [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Louis Has An Eating Disorder, Louis-centric, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Where We Are Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apeirophobia/pseuds/apeirophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you do?"</p><p>"Other people's boyfriends, apparently."</p><p>(In which Ashton has no fucks left to give, and Louis finds he still has a few.)</p><p>Or, Louis isn't sure if he's hitting his lowest point, but at least he's hitting something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a plaque on the wall in singapore

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for the kudos/comments on 'the smile that doesn't reach your eyes'! You're the best! Here is the sequel! :D

 

 

“What,” Harry says slowly, gesturing at Louis with an envelope in his hand, “is _this_?” and his voice could freeze glass.

 

The envelope he’s holding has Louis’ name on it. It’s test results. Of the sexually transmitted-disease sort. Normally--if Louis’ were someone else and this was another situation--he’d probably be holding his breath, anxious about what the envelope might contain, perhaps even nervous. That was Louis last week. He was a wreck waiting the seven days for his results to come back. After three days (of little sleep and less patience) he'd told Harry he was going to stay with his mum and Dan and the kids for a bit so he could worry in peace. It gave him a few days to relax, and bite all his nails off.

 

His doctor had called two days ago, before he returned home, saying everything had come back clean. The hard copy in the mail was more of a formality than anything. He’s not sure why he was so scared. Ashton was probably a virgin anyway.

 

“Are you cheating on me?” Harry asks, and he looks so serious, so genuinely livid, that Louis can’t take it.

 

He looks from the seemingly innocent envelope to his boyfriend’s face, then back again, and bursts into laughter.

 

* * *

  

“And then you just left him there?” Zayn says, incredulously.

 

“Yeah, and?” Louis says, making himself at home in Zayn's flat. He flails backward onto Zayn's sofa, the one that's so soft it feels like it's consumed you by the end of the movie, and wriggles until Zayn can only see two socked feet sticking out from under a pile of throw pillows.

 

“You didn’t think it imperative to clarify that you didn’t, in fact, cheat on him?” he asks, totally befuddled. Sometimes Harry and Louis feel stagnant, sometimes Zayn starts to lose hope of anything ever changing, ever improving with them. But then something will happen that moves them five paces forward, or back, in an instant. Like right now, with Harry obliviously breaking the terms of their unspoken truce, and Louis losing his shit in turn. Right now Zayn kind of feels like pulling out his copy of the DSM-V and checking off boxes.

 

Louis shrugs, “I might have shouted something like _Have at them, fuckface!_  on my way out,” he says, staring at the ceiling, “Oh, and something about, _guess he was a virgin after-all!_ ” he says, remembering, and then buries his face in his hands, only now getting second-hand embarrassment from himself.

 

“Louis!” Zayn exclaims, “You have the poorest self-control!” and he’s flabbergasted, but also a little impressed. And pleased, but he’ll never admit to that.

 

“Actually I think that award goes to Harry,” Louis says, fixing his deadened stare on Zayn, and Zayn smacks himself in the face, “Sorry, that was poorly worded," he says, regretful, but Louis just  waves him off. 

 

“Oh please, don’t worry about it,” he says, "I'm only accepting apologies from Harry from now on, which means I shouldn't be hearing the words " _I'm sorry_ " for the rest of my life,"

 

" _Harsh_ ," Zayn says, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

 

Louis looks up, meeting Zayn's gaze, “Maybe a few times,” he says, and grins. It's still a bit animalistic, not the usual sunshine smile that Louis is capable of, but Zayn will take what he can get. Anything is a vast improvement these days.

 

“I’m ordering pizza, and then I’m calling Niall,” Zayn says executively, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Louis' forehead, “He might be Harry’s best friend, but he's always up for a good laugh, regardless of whose expense it's at.”

 

Louis just hums in response and burrows deeper into his pile of pillows.

 

* * *

 

 

Niall high-fives Louis when Zayn tells him the story.

 

"I didn't even know you knew Harry was cheating on me," Louis says, when Niall rolls his eyes at Harry's antics, not surprised in the least. It hurts--saying it out loud--but the bandage was ripped off this morning when Harry accused  _him_ of cheating, and Louis figures saying it out loud isn't going to make it _more_ real. Censuring his own speech certainly isn't going to make Harry any more faithful.

 

"Please," Niall says, pausing to take a huge bite out of his slice of pizza, New York style, "I'm aware of everything that goes down on tour," and he gestures wildly with his hand not holding the pizza, as if to demonstrate his all-encompassing knowledge.

 

"Plus I had a couple of slumber-parties with the boys on Bus 3," he says with a shrug, "Keeps me up-to-date on all the hot goss',"

 

Louis groans in pain, "You did not just refer to gossip as _goss'_ , Niall, sometimes I can't believe I even know you," and Zayn pats Louis on the back in mock-sympathy.

 

"Know me," Niall says with a wink, "and love me."

 

Louis surprises himself with a laugh, thinking, _why **couldn't**  he have fallen in love with someone like Niall?_ It doesn't seem like the hardest thing to do, and he's pretty sure Niall doesn't even have an aptitude for cruelty.  _Because you're an idiot,_ his mind supplies helpfully,  _who loves making things hard for himself,_ and he thinks,  _true_.

 

Despite the warm company, Louis finds himself picking his way through his second piece of pizza. The phrase ' _eating his feelings_ ' comes to mind unbidden. He's sure he's seen it written on message boards the past couple of months, and repeated in the nastier news rags, speculation about his recent weight gain circulating amongst people-who-hate-him and people-who-love-him alike. He knows he's been putting on weigh since the last tour started, ever since Harry started looking around but he doesn't know whether he's blaming Harry's infidelity for the weight gain or vice versa.

 

_Eating his feelings,_ is such a stupid phrase, he thinks. As if he could ever eat that much.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Louis thinks about it--now that he's not dedicating all his energy to  _not thinking about it--_ about  _why_ Harry cheated on him. About what Louis did wrong. He knows--academically speaking--that what Harry did was wrong--and that's _true--_ but the stripped, honest part of Louis whispers  _what wasn't enough?_ As in, what sent Harry wandering in the first place? There's not exactly a shortage of attractive girls and guys throwing themselves at Harry, and there never have been (even when Harry was a bit nerdy in school--super awkward even--there hadn't exactly been a shortage of Valentines on his desk come February). So why now? Why after three--what Louis thought to be, very _happy_ \--years? And why _Ashton_?

 

It's just--that thing in the back of his mind, that thing everyone says. He's seen it joked about on people's blogs and in social-media conversations he really shouldn't be stalking ("Gonna need the eye-bleach, one of these days," Niall says knowingly, shaking his head as Louis scrolls through his feed) and-- It's not _just_ that Ashton looks like he could be related to Harry--with his curls and his bandanas and his goddamn dimples. It's that, he kind of looks like he could be related to _Louis_ too--with his glasses and his cheekbones and his figure. And that's where things get...wrong. Or, wronger than before. Because Louis has this _thing_ about his age, right? Like a sensitivity. He doesn't mind being the oldest in the band--loves it most of the time actually--he just doesn't love people  _pointing_ it out. Or when people remind him that he's nearly twenty-six months older than Harry, sometimes it makes him feel a little bad about himself. It's silly, because two years isn't the biggest age difference in the world, and it wouldn't really matter at all except-- The part where Ashton is three years younger than Louis, making him the same age _now_ that Louis was when he and Harry first hooked up, and it's like...is there even a word for that? Like he's being replaced, or, Harry's doing some weird Lolita thing, being stuck on his first love or indulging in his youth or something? And it's like, of all the people and places and ways Harry could be unfaithful...did it really have to be like this? In the way that would twist the knife in Louis' heart the most? In the way that would pry open Louis' insecurities the most? Louis just doesn't want to have anything to do with this. He doesn't want to be any part of the _reason_ Harry chose Ashton. He doesn't want the responsibility. Doesn't want the blame.

 

And Louis' not a prude. He's not some housewife from the '50's wondering why her husband comes home smelling like perfume she's never worn. He's not this...sad and desperate thing (he's _not_ the sad and desperate thing he feels like sometimes). He's a pop-star and a footballer and a charity tycoon and there's no reason Harry should _want_ to leave bruises on someone else's wrists (there's no reason Harry should _want_ anyone else at all). And it's not something he's given a lot of thought to before--what Harry _wants--_ because honestly, until very recently, he wasn't under the impression that Harry wanted anything but him. And now it's like he has to reevaluate the past three and a half years of his life, or possible the last twenty. And the worst part? He would have said  _yes_ to anything (within reason) that Harry suggested. But maybe, just maybe, Harry didn't want something that Louis would say _yes_ to. Maybe Harry wanted something just because he knew he wasn't supposed to have it.

 

Louis rolls onto his side and stares at the clock on the bedside-table of Zayn's guest room. It's face reads 4:37 a.m. in glowing numbers and the house is silent, the only sound Louis' own blood rushing in his ears. He can never seem to slow his pulse these days. It seems like whenever he thinks about Harry, his heart tries to beat it's way out of his chest, and not in a good way. Promo for _Where We Are_ begins in less than two weeks and from there he'll have six months of being in the same room, on the same _couch,_ as Harry. The anticipated tension is enough to make Louis' stomach clench already. Not that they've officially broken up. Not that they've officially  _anything_.

 

Louis already knows this is going to be a long tour.

 

* * *

 

He befriends Ashton (because of course he does). Or, he re-befriends him, technically, because he's pretty sure there was a week or two at the beginning of Take Me Home where they liked each other before Ashton got in over his head and everything went to shit. It happens, like so many things, on the smoker's porch behind Bus 1.

 

Louis is holding the smoke in his lungs and thinking on how it's an odd feeling--not being angry about everything all the time--before exhaling in a rush (and Louis thinks it's probably supposed to be more of a rule than an exception, but he tries not to think on it too hard). Pot makes him moody and philosophical, fucking sue him. Ashton is there, perched on the rail and swinging his legs back and forth, while Calum smokes a cigarette. He looks different-- _thinner--_ from the last tour, and Louis thinks _I wonder if Harry still wants him_ , like his mind is this low thing he can't control. Louis' not supposed to be letting Harry occupy his thoughts if he's not occupying his bed. It's a good policy, if he could follow it whatsoever.

 

Ashton laughs at something Calum says, leaning down to press his lips to the younger boy's. Calum stands between Ashton's parted legs, resting his hands casually, _possessively_ , on his drummer's thighs while a lazy trail of smoke swirls around them. It's an intimate moment, one that seems private despite Louis and Zayn standing only feet away, lighting up by the backdoor. Louis feels a wanting watching them, an ache for what he no longer has. For what Ashton still gets to have.

 

Calum turns to face them, Ashton resting his chin on Calum's head when the younger boy leans back against him, and Louis marvels at what an attractive pair they make. Ashton's hair is longer now, strawberry-blond curls falling in his eyes, and his tan skin looks unusually pale in contrast to Calum's darker tone. Calum stands a couple of inches taller than he did last tour, clearly trying to look tough with his ripped shirt and his tattoos on display. He narrows his eyes at Louis in distrust, but it comes across more cautious than angry. Louis thinks he might look intimidating if he didn't look about fourteen.

 

Louis leans against the outside of the bus--ignoring Calum's "protective boyfriend" posturing--and holds the blunt out to Ashton, in his version of an offering of friendship.

 

"No thanks," Ashton says shaking his head, but his tone is kind, "I don't really do that."

 

Louis raises a skeptical eyebrow--they are on the _smoker's_ porch after-all-- and says, frustrated, "What  _do_ you do?"

 

Ashton purses his lips--looks Louis dead in the eye--and says, "Other people's boyfriends, apparently," and Louis thinks he's in love. It's not that Zayn walks on eggshells around him, except he kinda does, and Ashton's got no fucks left to give. It's glorious.

 

"Sorry," Ashton says after a pause, and Louis has no idea which of many things that apology might be attached to. He grins instead of getting offended and hopes the excess of teeth doesn't scare Ashton off.

 

"No problem," Louis says with a shrug, "At least, not my problem anymore, anyway," he says, looking at Ashton meaningfully. He and Harry have only really communicated in glares and longing glances since tour started (the glares from Louis, the longing glances, Harry). He doesn't know why it seems so important to let Ashton know that Louis is no longer against him, that he's no longer on Harry's team, but it does.

 

"It's nice to see you, Louis," Ashton says--and he sounds like he means it--but Louis still thinks his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Ashton isn’t actually shy, once he warms up to you. He and Louis have reached some sort of understanding, the roots of their friendship built on fuckedupedness that no one should share--but they do--so they’ve made the most of it. Calum still eyes Louis with something like distrust in certain moments--like he associates Louis too closely with Harry to ever fully trust him--or maybe he’s just remembering that time Louis made Ashton cry, but Louis ignores it because, honestly, he deserves it. Deserves it for not standing up for himself, for not calling Harry out before things went too far. Deserves it because he discovered their band, _he_ invited them on tour, so who should really bare the blame for the dramatics that went down during Take Me Home? Besides, most of the time Louis associates _himself_ too closely with Harry for his own comfort, so what kind of hypocrite would it make him to judge someone else for doing the same?

 

“Want to watch a movie?” Ashton says, leaning his hip against the edge of Louis’ bunk, and Louis can't help but stare at the sliver of skin exposed when Ashton's t-shirt rides up. He has a faded scar right above his hipbone that he'd probably say was from a childhood accident but all Louis can think about is how he wishes his stomach went in like that. It's a fucked up thought. And for all that Ashton reminds Louis of himself sometimes, he knows he was never that skinny as a teenager. Louis shakes himself from his thoughts of self-deprecation and realizes Ashton is still waiting for an answer.

 

“Sure,” Louis says, swinging his legs out of his bunk and grabbing the first warm thing he sees--a sleep-soft hoodie Zayn must have left in his bunk the last time they cuddled--and tries to psych himself up for being sociable.  It'll be good for him, he tells himself; watching a movie like a normal person, hanging out with friends, not being a neurotic shut-in like he was towards the end of last tour (even if he can't guarantee the _neurotic_ part, he _is_ working on the "shut-in" thing). He's _trying_. Even if he does politely decline the popcorn bowl when Ashton offers it to him.

 

“You bitches are having a movie night _without me_?!” Niall shrieks from the doorway where he's posed dramatically, hand over his heart, positively scandalized.

 

“Come join us, you big baby!” Ashton shouts at the same time a pillow whizzes by Louis’ eye. He hears Calum cheer when it nails Niall square in the torso.

 

“Come on Niall, come cuddle,” Louis says, lifting his blanket in invitation.

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Niall says waggling his eyebrows suggestively and sliding into the unoccupied space next to Louis on the couch.

 

Calum throws popcorn at Niall's head but he just ignores the younger boy, muttering “Cozy, cozy, cozy,” to himself as he wraps his arms around Louis, burrowing his face in Louis' jumper.

 

“All settled, love?” Louis asks with a laugh, and Niall makes a sound that's akin to a purr. 

 

“Ah yes, everything's much better now,” Niall says, and Louis thinks _yes, it is_.

 

* * *

  

“What was he like?” Louis asks, because he's a fucking masochist, apparently.

 

Ashton chokes on his drink, making a gagging noise before saying, “Pardon?” like he doesn't know what Louis is talking about.  He still looks cute with Powerade coming out of his nose and Louis hates him, just a little bit (and he never professed to being the most emotionally mature person, alright). They're sitting at a picnic table behind the venue, Louis having a cigarette before they have to catch their van to the airport, Ashton icing his wrists so they don't swell too badly on the plane.

 

“What was sex with Harry like?" Louis repeats, "You know, when he fucked you?” and they're having some sort of first-world stand-off, the weapons being knowledge and ignorance. But ignorance is never as blissful as people say, and Louis should know there are things he's better off not knowing (Louis should know better than to demand answers).

 

“I don’t really remember,” Ashton says, the tops of his cheeks gone as red as his ice-burned wrists, and Louis has a feeling what he’s about to learn is something he really really doesn’t want to know.

 

“What do you mean?” Louis asks, because he hates himself and why not? Why not press on for answers he knows he's going to regret?

 

“I was, kind of drunk?” Ashton says like it’s a question, “And I don’t really remember? I’m kind of a lightweight, you see,” and he looks anywhere but Louis' face.

 

“I didn’t know you drank,” Louis says, frowning. He's seen the Australian boys have a beer after a show but he doesn't consider that to be _drinking_ (certainly not the kind of drinking that leads to blacking out). Knowing Niall and Harry has given him a new perspective on how much alcohol the human body can consume, and that's saying something, considering he grew up in Doncaster.  


 

“You’ve seen me drink,” Ashton says, scrunching up his face in confusion and Louis rolls his eyes. 

 

“No, I’ve seen you have _a_ drink,” Louis says as if explaining to a child and, well, “I’ve seen you down fruity shit that matches Michael’s hair,” and he gestures, trying to explain Niall’s ability to knock back his own body-weight in hard liquor, trying to explain a whole Doncaster lifestyle and London parties in one flailing hand motion, and says, “that’s not _drinking_ , you know what I mean."

 

Ashton raises his eyebrows, “Oh, right, I know what you mean,” he says with a nod, “No, I don’t drink, really,” at Louis’ pause, he continues, “It was just, it was my nineteenth birthday and Harry kept handing me drinks, so I didn’t say _no_ you know?”

 

Ashton still looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but this time he doesn't look away, “And I guess I drank too many, cause the next thing I know he’s saying there’s a private room in the back and it sounded like a _great_ idea,” and he grimaces like his own memories cause him pain.

 

Louis recoils like he's been struck and w hat _was_ he expecting? He knows how this story ends. It ends with Louis getting high with Zayn, and Harry sleeping on the couch. It ends with Niall between Harry and Liam in the final bow line-up and Louis on the other side of the stage. It ends with Louis crying until he throws up, promising to himself that he won't ever let Harry see what he's been reduced to, and smiling through an empty contract, he and Eleanor holding hands with nothing to hide for the first time in three years. 

  

“But that wasn’t the only time,” Louis says, coming back to himself. He tries not to sound accusing, but he can't help but remember reoccurring bite-marks and faded bruises. He wonders how Calum got over it. He doesn't know if he'll ever be over it.

 

“Of course not,” Ashton answers, and there’s a strange lit to his voice, “He said I had to return the favor,” and  _wow_  is that a beehive of a statement Louis is not poking. Ashton shrugs lightly, so as to not disturb the ice-packs resting on his wrists, and Louis wonders what a person has to have experienced in their life to remain calm in the face of such revelations. Sometimes, he wonders about Ashton. Other times he knows better than to ask.

 

“You know there’s a plaque in Singapore with Niall’s name on it for doing fifteen shots in thirty seconds?” Louis asks, somehow being reminded of shenanigans that happened years ago.

 

“Yeah?” Ashton asks, his lips quirking up in a half-smile, not sure where Louis is going with this.

 

“Yeah, under his name it just says, _it’s Harry’s fault_ ,” and Ashton laughs.

 

“Well, if that isn’t appropriate, I don’t know what is,” Ashton says, and grins. And even though things are more fucked up than they should be, even more fucked up than Louis _thought_ they were, he grins back.

 

* * *

 

Eleanor flies out to see him in Perth, and yeah management sent her, but it feels like a friend.

 

“Oh Louis,” she says, cupping his face gently in her hands, “You’re so thin,” and guilt wars with exhilaration when hears her words versus when he sees her expression.

 

“You know how tour is ‘El," he says, and his explanation sounds too rehearsed, even to him, "Not a lot of sleep, too much caffeine,” and she shakes her head, doing a good impression of his mother.

 

“Well, we’ll just have to fatten you up!” she exclaims, and he notices how warm she feels when she throws her arms around his neck, notices how she doesn't even need to go on her toes to do so, “And there’ll be no objections if your girlfriend wants to take you out for a snack and a cuppa,” she says with a smile, and he returns it, even if he winces at her word choice.

 

“Though that’ll be near impossible,” she says, raking her eyes over his form, “With your footballer physique and all,”

 

“I don’t have a _physique_ ‘El,” Louis says with a blush. It's the closest she's ever come to calling him  _hot_. The only other time was when they met at her grandfather's office to sign their contracts--nearly three years ago--and she'd raised an eyebrow at him when he'd walked through the door and said " _Well, this won't be too terrible._ " He'd blushed then too. 

 

“Oh please,” she says, “All the girls in my class are jealous of me, and half of them know you’re gay.”

 

He laughs as she tells him about her classes, and gives him updates on Bruce. He drinks two cups of tea and eats half a scone slowly, trying not to see the concern look in Eleanor’s eyes.

 

“It’s alright,” he says, after failing to ignore her worry, ”It’s just that I haven’t eaten a lot lately, so my stomach is kind of tight,”

 

Her face softens in understanding, “I get like that when I study too much,” she says, and pats his face again.

 

Even with his small hands he can reach his fingers around her wrist easily, “Don’t work yourself too hard El', that degree’ll be waiting for you, when you and your health are ready,” he says with a smile, and thinks, _maybe we're not that different at all_.

 

“You know,” Eleanor says, tracing her fingers over his knuckles lightly, “You’re pretty good at this boyfriend thing,” before she pauses and cringes,  “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!” she says and looks absolutely crestfallen, fearing she accidentally upset him.

 

“No, no, you’re fine,” Louis assures her, “It’s not on you,” he says with a comforting half-smile, "I know you didn't mean it like that."

 

She just squeezes his hand in response, another silent  _sorry._

 

“It's just...," Louis says after a moment, "He's always there? It's like when I turn he’s right there, and no matter how much we try to avoid each other, we’re still in sync,”

 

Eleanor snorts and Louis looks up, "No," she says with a smile, “You’re in One Direction.”

 

Louis groans and puts his head in his hands as Eleanor looks immensely pleased with herself.

 

* * *

 

Harry wants to talk to him. Harry wants to talk to him and he doesn’t know what there is to say. The other boy had a meltdown because Louis had a medical procedure. What would he do if Louis suggested they visit a lawyer? Because, yes, they’re at the “lawyer” stage. Louis thinks they past the “couple’s therapy” stage a while ago. Like five ‘awhiles’ ago.

 

“Louis,” Harry says while Louis spins in one of the ‘Hair and Make-up’ chairs. He’s not in ‘Hair and Make-up’ right now, just in the chair. Lou never puts the breaks on these things after she's done, and Louis loves seeing how fast he can go.

 

“I want to talk to you,” Harry repeats and Louis thinks  _am I supposed to care?_ Thinks,  _am I supposed to **want** to talk? _He and Harry have said so many words, loving and funny and interesting words, to each other over the years and somehow it feels like they've all been said. Once you've said _love_ and someone else has said _indifference_ , where is there to go from there?  


 

So Louis uses the oldest retort in the book and says, “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” and he can practically  _hear_ Harry's eye-roll.

 

Two large hands on either side of Louis' shoulders stop the momentum of his chair, and Louis' grin fades, "You want to talk?" he says, the edges of his mouth starting to point down, his tone taking on a bitter undercurrent that Harry doesn't pick up on. Harry just nods, hopeful that Louis will give him the time of day. That Louis will give him time to change his mind.

 

“By "talk" d'you mean, just get some alcohol in me so I’ll suck your dick?” Louis says, and Harry doesn't know what is harsher, his clipped words or his hollowed cheeks.

 

Harry just gives Louis a blank look, confused, and Louis laughs,  “Or was it the other way around?” 

 

Louis sees the moment realization hits Harry, and the cold flame of ire in his belly has never felt so vindicated.

 

"Fuck you very much, Harry," Louis says quietly, leaning close, and Harry flinches and _oh_ isn't that  _rich?_ "You should have known there were some things I couldn't forgive." Louis whispers, before turning to leave.

 

He leaves Harry standing there, hands still gripping the back of the make-up chair, stare fixed on the spot where Louis stood. His posture is rigid, either in shock or anger, and his nails are pressed so tightly into the leather covering that his fingers hurt when he finally releases his hold.  There are deep crescents indented in the soft leather of the armrests long after Harry lets go, but Louis doesn't stick around to see them fade.

 

* * *

 

It might seem wrong--after getting so angry on Ashton's behalf--to push Ashton up against the bus wall and demand the rest of the story but. The thing is, Louis is not the nicest person. He loves his family, he loves his friends, and he loves his fans. But he is capable of things that surprise even himself sometimes. And it shouldn't be this easy. Ashton is two inches taller than Louis but sometimes he thinks the younger boy lets himself be pushed around by him, like it's penance or something. All he wants is answers. If he has to intimidate an Australian drummer to get them then so be it.

 

"Why?" Ashton asks, annoyance in his voice with a tinge of fear, "Do you want to hear that he moaned your name? Do you want to know if he treated me just the same?" he leans his head back to meet Louis' gaze from where the older boy has him trapped between his arm and the cold metal finish of the bus, "Would that make you feel better, or worse?"

 

Louis looks Ashton right in the eyes and says, "Nothing could make me feel worse."

 

He leans closer and whispers, "What was he like?" desperately longing for an answer to the question he asked Ashton a continent ago.

 

Ashton closes his eyes and bows his head. Louis thinks he's shutting down before realizing he's just trying to find the words.

 

"He hurt me," Ashton says, his gaze flickering between Louis' eyes and the ground, "A lot." and Louis doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that, "He said, that it hurt because I wasn't relaxed and I was like _well, yeah,_ " and Ashton laughs, a little morosely, and says, "Things don't hurt with Calum."

 

"Why didn't you--" Ashton narrows his eyes before Louis can finish his thought, "...say no," he finishes lamely and Ashton shakes his head, "Because I was ten thousand miles from home and we hadn't been signed yet," and Louis wants to go back to last tour--when he was aggressively ignoring everything--when Ashton says plaintively, "I _couldn't_ go home."

 

Like he's pleading with Louis to understand, and Louis thought that feeling things was a good thing, an improvement. He was wrong.

 

Louis lets go of Ashton's arms but he keeps talking, like now that Louis' forced the words out of him he can't stop them, "And even after we were, I was just scared to rock the boat," he says, shaking his head like he's ashamed of his own cowedness.

 

Louis doesn't know what part of him the words come from--since he thought he'd been perfecting the art of pretending not to care--when he says, "Why didn't you come to me?"

 

"I  _did._ " Ashton says and _oh,_ Louis remembers now, and he doesn't know whether it's Ashton's ernest tone, or the fact that his eyes hold no blame in them when Louis meets his gaze, that flips the switch inside him so violently.

 

Louis thinks he surprises himself more than he surprises Ashton when he punches the side of Bus 1. Ashton, despite being inches from where Louis' fist meets metal, doesn't flinch at all. He just stares at Louis, a mix of wariness and concern in those big hazel eyes, and Louis thinks, _how did we get here?_  His knees buckle and then he's on the concert, cradling his right hand to his chest. He's never punched anything, or _anyone_ , before.

 

"Louis," Ashton says, crouching next to the older boy but being careful not to touch, "It's going to be okay."

 

Louis just grits his teeth at the stinging in his knuckles and blinks back tears that he tells himself are _definitely_ from his busted hand.

 

It sounds like a very long eventuality.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudo/comment if you liked it! I'd love to hear what you think! <3


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